Felis
TNPer
James knelt.
Around him, the branches of the pale-green-leafed yew trees that surrounded twisted and conjoined to form a natural wall, a barrier.
Above him, clouds obscured the sun and the sky leaving nothing but grey. No birds obstructed the bland, matte colour.
Below him, the dying and flowerless grass, although sporadic, stretched across the grove as if it were a natural carpet coloured brown.
In front of him, however, sat a plinth-like stone placed in the centre of the grove with two objects on-top of it, a stone and a statue. The statue sat behind the sword, in a knelt meditation position looking up at the sky. Made of a black metal, it had few features; no mouth, a holy cross in its place, and holes where the nose and eyes would usually sit. The surface of it was covered in dents, cracks and an assortment of damage, as well as much of the body having been covered by a thin, draped black piece of fabric which, like the statue itself, was quite damaged. The hands of this statue reached out towards the sword, lodged halfway inside the stone, and held both the hilt and blade of the weapon with as much might as a large hunk of metal could. The sword it held was no less stranger, it glowed a blinding white like a star with no visible detail or texture.
James spoke out a strange incantation, the language certainly not Mercanti, and placed his right hand on the tip of the hilt. He threw his head back in total, utter agony, whilst both his eyes and the eyes of the statues glowed white like the sword. Before he knew it, the statue had pulled the blade out of the stone and stood up, towering over James like a golem. The statue thrusted the sword through James' neck with as much force as it could muster before returning itself and the sword into the position it had previously sat in as if nothing had happened.
James was not the Heir.
He was not the King who'd lead Cronaal to a new age.